


A collection of kink prompts

by Synekdokee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Connor, Come Inflation, Fisting, Humiliation, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Smut, Top Hank Anderson, Uniform Kink, Urination, consensual removal of robo limbs, degredation, nugget connor, pain-play, piss-play, slutty Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: A WIP collection of mini fills of varying lengths for kink prompts people sent me. First chapter is an index of pairings and kinks used in each chapter. I will update the tags and trigger warnings as they become relevant. Let me know if I miss something.





	1. Index

Chpt 2: HankCon - Limb removal, degradation, consent play, urination.

Chpt 3: HankCon - ABO, talk about breeding, knotting, come inflation.

Chapt 4: HankCon - Uniform kink, masturbation, hand-jobs.

Chpt 5: HankCon - Bondage, caning, nipple play, pain play.

Chpt 6: HankCon - Fisting, come play, toys, orgasm denial. 

Chrpt 7: RK 1700 - Humiliation, adoration, mild dub-con, shoe-fucking?


	2. Chapter 2

Connor wakes up from his stasis unable to move.

It’s not that his components aren’t responding. It’s that the correct ones don’t seem to be there.

He lifts his head and looks down at himself. All of his limbs removed from his torso, and the realisation pulls a thick moan from his throat.

“Awake, are we?” Hank says, entering the room. He has his sleeves rolled up, and Connor can see the traces of evaporated thirium on his skin and clothes.

“You-” Connor starts, and then swallows, trying to find the right words.

 _We’re doing this?_ Doesn’t seem like enough. _For me?_ Would be disingenuous.

All he can choke out is, “ _Hank._ ”

“No one told you you could speak,” Hank says, and Connor can see the discomfort that still lingers. It’s alright. He can turn that tide.

His cock begins to swell with the excitement of what’s to come, and Hank’s eyes fall to it, the only protrusion on his pale, blue-spattered body.

“You just don’t learn,” Hank sighs, leaning down to reach between where Connor’s legs would normally be. “Slut,” Hank murmurs under his breath, gaze flickering up to check on the expression on Connor’s face.

Connor can only stare, eyes blown with lust, as Hank presses forcefully on the panel behind his balls, disengaging his genitalia. He throws it carelessly on the floor, wiping his hands clean.

“There. Perfect little fuck-toy,” Hank says, looking satisfied. “What do you even need a dick for? This isn’t for you,” he adds, beginning to remove his trousers.

Connor nods, lips parted as he stares. He loves Hank’s cock, the girth of it, the way it always fills him up so perfectly. He licks his lips when Hank exposes himself, stroking himself to hardness.

Connor lets out a whine, desperate to move closer, to get his mouth on Hank, his body wriggling helplessly on the bed. Hank chuckles, moving onto to bed to crawl over Connor’s prone body.

“You want this?” He asks, and Connor starts to nod, and then hesitates.

“Speak,” Hank snaps, now kneeling over Connor’s belly.

“It- it doesn’t matter what I want,” Connor says demurely, and Hank’s mouth curls into a smile. He reaches his hand to grab Connor’s hair, gentle, too gentle. It’s not what Connor wants. It’s not what he wants _Hank_ to want.

Hank holds Connor’s head steady, shuffling a little bit closer, his large hand tender around the back of Connor’s skull as he slowly begins to feed him his cock.

Connor’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he moans, cheeks hollowed as he opens his mouth wide to accommodate all of Hank. Hank takes it so slow, and Connor hears a softly muttered praise that makes him freeze.

He stares up at Hank, trying to convey what he needs. It’s not a challenge. It’s a plea.

Hank goes still for a moment, swallowing. Connor can see him open his mouth around the syllable of Connor’s name, and then close it again. Then he nods, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his fingers curl into Connor’s hair to grip it.

Connor’s whole body jolts when Hank shoves him down on his cock, ramming himself down Connor’s throat. He pauses, just long enough to shuffle up the bed until Connor’s head is braced against the headboard, and then Hank picks up a fast, brutal pace. He fucks Connor’s mouth mercilessly, taking what he needs, and Connor closes his eyes and submits. This is what he wants, for Hank to use him selfishly, to be nothing but an object made to serve Hank.

Hank’s cock makes wet, obscene sounds as he fucks, Connor’s throat and mouth flooded with artificial spit, his systems gone haywire and producing it in excess. It wells from the corners of his lips, drips down his chin and chest.

Connor’s whole body is on fire - his arousal has no outlet, the ports meant for his dick now dead-ends, and it makes him whine with desperation. Hank uses him like a glorified fleshlight, using his mouth to jerk himself off, and it drives Connor crazy with want.

Suddenly Hank jerks back, folding over himself and holding on to the base of his cock so hard Connor can see the skin go white. Connor whines, tries to get closer to Hank, hungrily craning his neck where his body can’t go.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank breathes, almost agonised, trying to calm himself down. He’s panting like a race-horse, his body flushed all over, his balls and thighs soaked with Connor’s spit.

He stares at Connor, wide-eyed, and Connor wonders if he’s more surprised about Connor or himself. Hank’s eyes trail over his spit-slick chest, lingering on the empty sockets where his arms would be, and then down to his legless pelvic area.

“Okay,” Hank breathes, closing his eyes for a moment. Connor can’t look away - quite literally, but he wouldn’t want to. Hank is magnificent, his barrel chest heaving, his thick cock curved against the swell of his belly. Connor will never love anyone like he loves Hank.

“Okay,” Hank says again, opening his eyes. His hands go to Connor’s hips, dragging him down and flipping him over onto his belly.

“Can’t believe how lucky I got. They just gifted me a perfect little cock-socket,” Hank murmurs, and there’s a new tone to his voice that sends an electric jolt through Connor.

Hank’s large palms grab his ass cheeks, parting them to expose Connor’s hole. He hears Hank spit, and something wet land on him, and he groans, feeling the saliva drip down his crack.

“Not that you deserve it, but I don’t fancy a cock-burn,” Hank says, wiping his hand over Connor’s cheeks and neck, coating it with his slick spit.

There’s a moment of silence, Connor trying to crane his head to look, the lack of arms making it futile.

When Hank finally fucks him, he does it without prep, without warning. Just lifts Connor up by his hips until only his chin is wedged against the mattress, and shoves himself in.

Connor can’t feel pain, but he can feel Hank’s girth stretch him, every perfect, punishing inch of him dragging against his rim, cleaving a space inside him. He can’t help it - he sobs, and smiles, happiness welling inside of him.

Hank doesn’t begin thrusting. What he does instead is begin to jerk Connor’s body back and forth, like Connor really isn’t anything more than a toy to be used. It makes Connor delirious with pleasure, with love, his mouth hanging open as his face drags along the sheets, spreading drool everywhere.

Hank is grunting, and Connor wishes he could see it, see his muscles bunch as he hauls Connor’s weight around. Instead he shuts his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of Hank’s hands gripping his hips, his balls slapping against his shapeless crotch, his massive cock filling Connor’s ass, ruining his tight hole, stretching him wide until there is a perfect Hank-shaped space inside him.

He can hear Hank grunting, his heavy breaths, the sound of skin slapping on skin. Connor whines and pants and moans, flopping helplessly in Hank’s bruising grip.

“Fuck, you’re getting off on this?” Hank growls, lowering them down until he’s pressing Connor flat, pinning him with his cock, with the bulk of his body. Connor sinks into the sagging mattress, _buried_ under Hank’s weight.

“Knew you were a slut for it, only thing you’re good for, an over-priced fuck-doll,” Hank laughs, voice low and dark, and Connor’s whole body quivers. Hank humps Connor, rutting him without finess.

“Maybe I should share you with the precinct,” he continues, sliding a hand up Connor’s side. “Leave you on my desk for anyone to use, hmm? I bet the guys would love that. Our personal little cum-dump.”

Hank’s panting hard, hips working frantically, his hand scrabbling around Connor’s arm socket.

“That’s what you want, huh? That’s all you want to do, to service us, to keep our cocks warm and take our come- fuck!”

He shoves two fingers inside the yielding silicon vein in Connor’s shoulder, and Connor screams, his voice cracking and warping into an electronic warble, every muscle in him going tight.

“Fuck, Connor, you-” Hank chokes out, and Connor can feel him come, can feel how he goes tense and how his cock twitches inside Connor’s guts.

They lay there in silence for a moment, and then Hank heaves out a sigh.

“Jesus, you’re filthy,” He says, ignoring the fact that Connor has, for the most part, remained a mute partner in all of this.

Hank doesn’t move, not for a good while.

“I like this. You, quiet for once,” he laughs, and Connor only lets out a happy sigh. Hank is growing soft inside him, his come beginning to leak out from Connor’s hole, which is probably broken and irreparable by now.

“Should just keep you like this, my own little cock-warmer,” Hank murmurs, nuzzling at Connor’s neck, and Connor _mewls_.

Connor doesn’t know how much time passes, lost in the bliss of Hank’s weight warm on him, his cock lodged comfortably inside Connor where it belongs.

Hank shifts, and Connor whines in protest.

“Fuck, come on, I need to-” Hank says, pausing. After a moment he rests himself down again, and Connor can feel his cock twitch, though he knows Hank won’t be able to get hard again.

“Shit, okay, fuck,” Hank mutters, burying his face against Connor’s neck, and then he goes still.

Connor gasps in a huge, shuddering breath when he feels it - warmth filling him, every inch of his already stretched passage, ballooning his guts.

Hank is pissing inside him.

Connor sobs at the realisation, heaving in huge breaths, his body quaking with an orgasm he has no outlet for. Hank is filling him beyond what he was meant for, using him for something he wasn’t made for, and it makes him cry, huge, wet tears of joy dampening the sheets under him.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” he whispers, and Hank peppers soft kisses along the line of his shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

“Jesus Christ, Connor,” Hank growls, slamming the door shut behind them. 

Connor whines, standing there with his legs closed tightly. Hank knows he’s clenching his ass to keep the slick from gushing out and soiling his pants further. 

“You never listen to me,” Hank says, grabbing his neck and dragging him into the bedroom. He throws Connor onto the bed, and Connor starts to frantically undress, all but tearing his clothes off. Hank is doing the same, throwing his shirt into a corner and pushing his pants and boxers down, releasing his straining cock. 

Connor whines, crawling up and towards him, and the scent of his heat nearly knocks Hank back. 

“How many times have you forgot your suppressants?” Hank asks, grabbing Connor’s shoulders and spinning him around, pushing him down until his chest is flush to the bed, ass up. 

Connor moans, spreading his thighs, presenting himself. Hank slaps his ass cheek, hard, and Connor jumps and mewls. 

“If I have to drag you home from work one more time, so help me god,” Hank mutters, climbing behind Connor. He swipes his hand over Connor’s crack, testing, and it comes away soaked. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you smell like,” he says, voice thick with lust. There’s an ache in the base of his spine, a primal need that’s slowly beginning to push all of his rational thoughts aside. 

He wastes no time in mounting his omega, Connor’s twitching hole already opening up for breeding, greedy and hungry. 

Hank moans when he slides home, Connor’s body accepting its alpha easily. Connor lets out a soft, content sigh, the tension in his muscles visibly melting away. 

“Right where you need to be, huh?” Hank says fondly, leaning down until his chest is flush with Connor’s heated back, until he’s all the way inside, balls nestled against Connor’s. 

It’s so easy to give into it. All Hank wants is his mate, the alpha in him clamouring to claim him - even though Connor is already his. Carries Hank’s scent on him daily, an indelible sign that he belongs to someone now. 

Hank begins to thrust, rutting into his omega’s slick heat, Connor scrabbling at the sheets beneath him. 

“Perfect, fuck, baby, you’re perfect,” Hank slurs, grinding his hips against Connor’s ass, trying to get deeper. 

“Y-yeah, yeah, fuck, Hank, please,” Connor moans, voice cracking with every thrust of Hank’s cock inside him. 

It can’t last long, their first mating of a heat never does, both of them too high on pheromones. Hank can feel his knot begin to swell, but he doesn’t stop thrusting, the growing gland catching on Connor’s rim with each push and pull. 

Connor’s moans grow louder, desperate and hungry, and Hank can feel the slick gush out of him, dripping down their thighs, soaking the sheets beneath them. 

He knows, logically, that he can’t get Connor pregnant now. It doesn’t matter. His hind brain wants to breed his mate, to pump him full of seed and impregnate him. His knot finally catches, and the feeling of being locked to Connor, the tug of Connor’s hole around him triggers his orgasm, and he comes with a full-body shudder, digging his teeth into the curve of Connor’s shoulder.

Connor whimpers, twitching, hole clenching around Hank, and Hank knows - can _smell it_ \- that Connor has just come too, his cock untouched and dribbling come to join his own juices soaked into the sheets. 

“God, you smell amazing,” Hank moans, inhaling deep. Connor just sighs, happy and sated, going down willingly when Hank finally maneuvers him onto his side, curling up against Connor’s back, still tied to him. 

It will take a while. The first round always does. His knot won’t go down for hours, and Hank will keep releasing semen inside his mate, plugged up by the knot. 

 

Eventually the initial heat subsides. Connor makes a soft sound of discomfort, tugging his hips, and Hank hushes him, still too large to be pulled out safely. 

He pets Connor where he can touch him - his freckled shoulders, his muscles arms, his flushed cheeks. He plays with Connor’s nipples, pert and sensitive, flicking them with his nail in a way that draws a twitch from Connor’s spent cock. Hank chuckles, sliding his hand to cup the swell of Connor’s abdomen, the skin stretched tight with how full of Hank’s come he is. 

“Look at you,” he hums, nuzzling behind Connor’s ear. “Taking it all so beautifully. I’m the luckiest alpha in the world.”

Connor smiles, humming sleepily, covering Hank’s hand with his. 

“You should plug me up, keep it in me until you go again. See how much I can fit.”

Hank shivers at the thought, his dick jerking inside Connor. “Maybe next round,” he mutters. He wants to make sure he hasn’t done any damage - they always lose control a little like this, when Connor’s being a moron and forgetting his suppressants until his heat hits them both like a punch to the gut. Hank’s still surprised he didn’t try to mount Connor right there in the middle of the precinct. 

Eventually his knot goes down and he slips out, and along with it a flood of slick and semen. Connor lets out a dissatisfied sound at the loss of Hank’s seed. Hank rolls him gently onto his stomach, spreading his legs so he can get in close. 

“Stop clenching, I need to see,” Hank says sternly, and Connor sighs, relaxing. Hank knows how badly he wants to keep Hank’s seed inside, not just because of what his omega instincts tell him to do, but because he loves carrying Hank inside him. If Hank allowed it, Connor would happily walk around with Hank’s come sloshing around in him, letting everyone smell the fact that he’d just gotten bred. 

Hank thumbs Connor open gently, inspecting his loose, puffy hole. He teases the swollen rim with his fingers, Connor whining so prettily with how sensitive he must be. 

“You’re good,” Hank says with approval. “Such a good mate, always taking me so well.”

Connor gives him a dopey smile over his shoulder, still a little addled from the chemicals between them. Hank laughs, low and warm, bundles him up inside blankets before he heads into the kitchen to get some water and food. He needs to take care of his mate.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s the dress uniform that seems to trigger it. 

Connor has never felt the need to touch his genital components before. They’re just. Sort of there, in case he’d ever need them, mostly because it had been easier to leave them than to rewire him without them. 

Not that he’s never felt arousal - he feels it often around Hank, and sometimes, more fleetingly, around other people. 

 

It’s just never been the sort of an urgent need that required attending to. 

Until the uniform. 

Well. _Hank_ in his uniform. 

Connor had watched Hank put it on, grumbling about pointless ceremonies and wastes of tax money. Connor hadn’t really been listening, too enraptured by the sight of Hank in his perfectly fitted slacks and coat, the crisp collar, the brass and gold decorating his shoulders and chest. 

Connor had wanted to touch. To run his hands down the coarse fabric, molding to the line of Hank’s belly. Wanted to feel it drag against his skin. Wanted to bury his face in Hank’s crotch, to nose at the bulge visible there despite the perfect tailoring. 

 

That night, laying on Hank’s sofa, he’d touched himself to the memory of Hank like that, proud and bold and larger than life. 

His first orgasm had made him shake, his wires sparking with the overload, and it had been the most intense thing he’d ever felt. 

Ever since then, he can’t stop. Every moment he can get alone he spends getting himself off - sometimes rushed (in a bathroom at a crime scene, turning off the components that mimic semen; in the men’s room at the precinct; at home, when Hank is out, or asleep, or in the bathroom), sometimes taking his time, bringing himself to the brink before backing off again. 

Sometimes he does it on Hank’s bed, inhaling his scent, rutting into a pillow. He washes the pillowcase, but there’s nothing to be done about the pillow itself. He likes the thought of Hank sleeping on it though, makes him feel closer to Hank in a way he can only dream of being.

He doesn’t understand how humans get anything done. Why doesn’t everyone just masturbate all the time? 

 

It’s only a matter of time before he gets careless. 

 

The lights flicker on.

“Connor?”

Connor jerks up, trying to tug his pants back up before Hank can circle the sofa and see what he’s been doing, but his hands are shaking, arousal thrumming inside him, only amplified by the Hank’s proximity. 

Hank steps around the sofa, coming to a sudden stop. 

“What the fuck- you can’t-,” Hank stutters, turning away. “Fucking make yourself decent, you can’t just fucking do that on my sofa!” He says, tone a tad hysterical. 

Connor can’t help it. He needs it, and stopping now is akin to _painful_.

“Hank, please,” he whispers, pleading. “It feels so good, I _can’t stop_.”

“Jesus, Connor-”

“I think about you, all the time,” he blurts out, desperate for Hank to understand. 

Hank stands, head dipped down. He takes a deep breath, turning slowly, his eyes falling on Connor’s lap. 

“Me?” He asks, voice strained. 

Connor nods, spreading his legs, moving his hands away from his lap. He pats the seat next to him, smiling softly at Hank. 

“Why don’t you just watch. If you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never bring it up again.”

Hank swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. Connor holds a breath he doesn’t need, and then releases it when Hank moves, stiffly, until he’s sitting down next to Connor, wide-eyed and tense. 

Connor gives him a new, reassuring smile, and slowly brings his hand back to his dick. 

“You can touch, if you want,” he says, beginning to stroke himself, his eyes fluttering closed. 

He can hear Hank, his shallow, erratic breaths. 

Connor listens to them, sighing softly. His other hand plays with his balls, and then slides lower. He lifts one thigh up a little, pressing his fingers against his hole, teasing. If only they were Hank’s fingers - thick and calloused. 

“Hank,” he breathes, worrying at his bottom lip. He hears Hank’s breath hitch, and then the rustle of fabric, and then a hand, large and rough, wraps around his. 

Connor sobs, opening his eyes to look at Hank. Hank’s not looking at him, though, or at least no his face. He’s staring at their joined hands, moving over Connor’s dick. He looks beautiful, flushed and still a little rumpled from sleep. _Want_ burns inside Connor, consuming everything.

“Hank, please,” he whines, and Hank jerks his head up, looking at him with his blue eyes wide.

It’s not a conscious decision. All there is is the visceral desire, and so Connor obeys. He surges forwards, pulling his hand away so he can wrap it around Hank’s neck, and kisses him, hard. 

He’s never kissed anyone before. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it right, but it feels perfect, Hank’s mouth soft and wonderful against his, everything he’s ever wanted, and it makes him come, a choked cry wrenched out of him as he sags against Hank, head pressed into the crook of Hank’s neck. 

“Please don’t be angry,” Connor whispers, lips brushing against Hank’s pulse point. 

Hank is quiet, his hand still wrapped around Connor’s spent dick. 

Finally he moves. He wraps his arm around Connor’s back, and holds him close.


	5. Chapter 5

“I told you not to move,” Hank says, circling around Connor, crop held in his right hand. 

Connor moans around the gag, his bound dick twitching. He shuffles on his toes, sobbing when he falters, the clamps on his pink nipples tugging as his body lowers for a moment. 

“Do you have the bell?” Hank murmurs, tracing the tip of the cock over the swell of Connor’s ass. 

Connor gives a garbled response. The bell doesn’t ring. 

“Good boy,” Hank says, and gives Connor’s pale ass a swat. Connor’s whole body shudders, shaking where it’s suspended by ropes. It’s not the intricate work Hank had been going for, but they have time to practice. It does the job though, the coarse material digging into Connor’s skin, turning it white in places. 

“Do you want to stay like this, or will you take the crop?”

Connor pants through his nose, and Hank leans over to see his face. His cheeks are wet with tears, but his eyes almost black, pupils blown with lust and pain. He stays on his toes, body strained past discomfort and more ages ago. 

“The crop?” Hank asks, and Connor blinks slowly. Hank hums, pleased. He loosens the anchor rope a little, just enough that Connor can stand flat on his feet without the clamps tightening. 

“On or off?” Hank says, flicking one of the clamps, and Connor shudders, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

“On then, for now,” Hank decides. He unhooks the clamp chains from the rope though, letting the delicate silver snake down Connor’s flushed chest. 

Whether it’s from the stimulation allowed by the new upgrade or just a response to the metal, Connor’s skin flickers and flows under it. 

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” Hank says, palming his own dick through his pants. Connor sniffles happily, and Hank pulls out the gag, dropping it on the floor. 

“I want to hear you,” he says, thumbing at Connor’s bottom lip before moving behind him again. 

“Why don’t you count for me,” he says sweetly, and Connor nods, shoulders shaking with anticipation. 

Hank starts easy, almost gentle, but picks up speed and force as Connor counts. 

It’s something else, hearing Connor’s voice go from breathless to cracking with each number he calls, and by the time they reach eight, Connor sounds like one of those cheap robot voices that Hank remembers from when he was younger. His ass is red, angry welts criss crossing on the skin. Hank drags a finger over them, and Connor’s knees buckle, the ropes holding his weight before he corrects himself. The welts will fade and heal soon, though Hank wishes he could make them linger.

“Two more, then we’re done,” Hank says, tone soothing but firm. Connor sobs and nods his head frantically. 

Hank swallows and raises his arm, and then brings it down hard enough that the crop makes a whistling sound. 

“Nine!” Connor screams, the bell clenched tightly in his hand. “Please, Hank, Hank-”

Quickly, before either of them has too much time to think about it, Hank delivers the final blow, just as hard and fast as the previous. If Connor were human, he’d be bleeding. 

“T-ten,” Connor cries, and this time when he collapses he can’t bring himself to stand up again.

Hank grabs him quickly, undoing the knots that allow the whole thing to unravel. He sits down and pulls Connor between his legs, his back to Hank’s chest, and carefully begins to untie his cock. It’s swollen and flushed an angry shade of red.

“That’s it, you were so good, you did so well,” Hank cooes, beginning to stroke Connor. Connor grips his thigh, crying softly, rutting his hips into Hank’s hand. His lower back rubs against Hank’s aching cock, but that can wait. 

He can feel Connor’s body begin to tense, can tell the way his thrusts grow frantic that he’s about to come, and quickly he undoes the nipple clamps. 

Connor jolts in his lap, as though he’s been electrocuted, and comes with a broken wail, coating his belly and Hank’s hand with his come. Hank strokes and pets him through it, murmuring sweetly, bringing Connor down gently. 

Connor shivers in his arms in rhythmic waves, a happy clicking sound emitting from somewhere in his chest. 

“I love you,” he says, voice thick from crying as he turns his head to nuzzle at Hank’s beard.

“I love you too,” Hank murmurs, cradling Connor in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes a while for Hank to figure it out. 

It’s not that he’s a selfish lover - it’s that he’s been celibate for a good number of years, and suddenly having a gorgeous twink in his bed, not to mention one that’s an android who can literally fuck for hours, well. His longevity isn’t what it once was. 

Now that the first frantic novelty is wearing off though, he’s noticed a pattern. 

“Don’t you ever want me to get you off first?” He asks when Connor is cleaning them both up with a wet cloth. 

Connor gives him a surprised look. 

“I can’t,” he says, like Hank’s particularly slow-witted. 

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Hank asks, sitting up in bed. 

“My sexual components were designed with male human gratification in mind,” Connor says, tone matter-of-fact. “I can’t orgasm until my systems detect semen in my mouth or my anus.”

He disappears into the bathroom, probably to do laundry - Connor has never been one for after-glow. Hank stares after him, jaw slack. 

An idea takes root, and begins to grow.

 

“I want to try something,” he says one saturday evening, holding up a condom. 

Connor pauses where he’s fingering himself lazily, and squints at him. 

“Is this because of the semen trigger I told you about,” he asks, sounding a little dubious. 

Hank nods. “Wanna see how long you can last?”

Connor purses his lips, making a thoughtful face. Then he pulls his fingers out, slithering down until he’s laying flat on the bed. 

“I’m game.”

 

It doesn’t take long for his tune to change. 

“Hank, please,” Connor moans, writhing on the bed as Hank pulls the condom off, tossing it in the trash. 

“Too late,” Hank says cheerfully, and sinks his mouth over Connor’s cock. Connor cries out, his hands tangling in Hank’s hair as he tries not to hump up - not that it would help much. Connor really can’t come, Hank discovers, no matter how long Hank sucks swollen his cock or fingers his slick hole. 

Eventually Hank pulls off with a wet pop, rummaging for something under the bed. 

“Let’s see how this works,” he says, unpacking the plug. He shows it to Connor, who swallows before nodding slowly. 

It goes in easily, Connor’s ass soaked with his own slick. Hank holds up the remote, and flicks it on. 

The sight of Connor’s eyes widening and lips parting around a soundless moan is a religious experience, Hank decides. He watches for a moment, and then gets off the bed, tugging on a pair of sweats. 

Connor rolls onto his belly, staring at him while rubbing himself against the sheets.

“W-what-” he stammers, and then whines when Hank flicks the dial up. 

“Oh, I’m feeling kinda hungry. But you stay here!” He offer magnanimously, slipping out the door. 

He’s not actually hungry. He’s so turned on even the thought of eating is out of the question. He sits in the kitchen watching Sumo eat, listening to the soft sounds carrying over from the bedroom. At some point he turns the plug off, just for a moment, and then flicks it back on full force. 

The scream Connor lets out is the most beautiful thing Hank has ever heard. 

Connor is a blue-blushed mess when Hank returns to him, rutting against the mattress desperately, whining and chanting Hank’s name. 

“Shh, it’s okay, here,” Hank murmurs, turning the plug off and reaching to pull it out. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he gasps. Connor is _soaked_ , what must be cupfulls of thirium-based lube seeped into the bed, his ass and thighs coated with it. 

“Well, guess we’re going mattress shopping,” Hank mutters a little hysterically. 

“Haaaank, please,” Connor moans, sounding a little delirious with it. 

Hank rolls him over onto his back, taking in the strange android blush that’s covering his whole body, even his nipples gone a lovely shade of lavender. 

“God, you’re pretty,” Hank sighs happily, leaning down to kiss him. Connor kisses him back hungrily, a little too clumsy for Hank’s taste, but considering the poor kid’s been edged for about an hour straight, he’ll forgive it. 

It’s ridiculously easy to slide two fingers inside Connor, and he quickly pushes in a third one. Even that is hardly a stretch, not with how wet he is, and Hank hesitates for a moment before he presses all four fingers inside, his thumb stroking along Connor’s soft balls. 

Connor’s staring at him, wide-eyed and panting, and Hank thinks he can see his thirium pump thrum against his chassis, even through his skin. 

“I wanna-” Hank starts, pulling his hand away. “I want to try something.”

“No!” Connor moans, shaking his head back and forth. “No more trying things, please, Hank, I can’t-” his voice breaks and he grabs his own cock, giving it a handful of furious strokes before he sobs with frustration, hips bucking desperately. 

“Please, please let me come!”

Hank licks his lips, sliding his pants off slowly. 

“No, I promise you’ll like it. I think,” he adds, if a little uncertainly, taking himself in hand. 

Connor goes quiet and still, trembling minutely as he watches Hank jerk himself off, his expression hungry and a little wild. It’s the hottest thing Hank’s seen since - well, probably since he first saw Connor naked.

It doesn’t take long, even if it is his second orgasm today. Seeing Connor like this, desperate and begging for it does things to Hank. 

He tightens the pace, grunting, and when Connor surges up and towards him Hank nearly sprains his wrist holding him back. 

“No! No, hold on,” he says frantically, choking on the words as he comes into his own hand. Connor struggles against him, face only inches from his twitching cock, tongue extended out. It looks filthy, no one should ever look that eager for a come load, and Hank’s cock twitches, aching. 

“You’re such a slut,” Hank grunts, pushing Connor back. 

“What are you doing?” Connor wails, gripping his own dick where it curves so prettily against his flat belly. 

“I want to-” Hank starts, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Blushing, he brings his come-soaked hand to Connor’s loose hole, pushing four fingers inside. 

Nothing. 

Connor only mewls, the corners of his eyes growing damp. “It’s not deep enough!” He shouts, voice cracking, and Hank stares at where his fingers are stretching Connor wide. 

“Oh,” Hank says quietly. 

He brushes his thumb over the rim of Connor’s opening, already tight around his knuckles. 

“Wh-” Connor says, staring at him. Then his lashes flutter and he moans, low and filthy, spreading his thighs wider. 

Okay. Alright. Hank fucking recognises consent when he sees it. 

He folds his thumb against his palm and begins to press, his own breaths coming in shallow as he watches his tucked fingers slowly open Connor up, so impossibly wide. 

Connor’s mouth has gone slack, and the look in is his eyes when Hank glances up is something he’s never seen before. Glazed and vacant, he watches Hank with a delirious expression, drool dripping down his chin. 

Hank looks down at his hand, and gives it one last push - and Connor’s hole closes around his wrist. Hank has to gasp in a breath, so furiously turned on by the sight that it almost makes him nauseous. Connor is crying quietly, hitched pants spilling out of his wet, pink mouth. 

“Hah, ha, ah, Ha-hank,” Connor gasps, fingers twitching where they rest over his belly. He shifts his hips, sinking down on Hank’s forearm barely an inch, and it’s like someone has flicked a switch.

Connor’s back snaps off the bed as he comes, screaming Hank’s name hoarsely, spurting over his belly and chest. Hank can feel his whole body pulsing around his hand, like it’s trying to milk a cock, and if Hank still had a religious bone left in him he’d be thank God for the sight of Connor writhing on his hand like an animal in heat. 

Connor’s orgasms lasts what feels like minutes until he finally slumps down on the bed, a sated, whimpering mess. 

Hank pulls his hand out slowly, memorising the sight of Connor’s used hole distening against the pull of the heel of his hand before giving it up, the wet, squelching sound that follows sure to fill Hank’s wet dreams for years to come. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hank breathes, staring at the slick-dripping hole, now gaping open.

“I can’t,” Connor sobs, boneless on the bed. 

“Well, it’s fucking gorgeous,” Hank states, committing the sight to memory before he crawls up the bed to join Connor. He gathers him in his arms, pressing a kiss to Connor’s heated brow. 

“No more experimenting,” Connor says weakly, his voice muffled into Hank’s chest. 

Hank laughs, a little breathless, and rubs circles into Connor’s back. He suspects Connor won’t be that hard to persuade, should the need rise.


	7. Chapter 7

The assignment itself had been easy. Distract the Lieutenant, capture the RK-800, and bring him back to Cyber Life. 

He feels the weight of the call-back radio in his pocket as he stares at Connor, flat on his back on the cold concrete. Brown eyes round, and an erection tenting his slacks. 

900 has never in his short life lost control like this.

He is everything Connor is, and better. Stronger. Smarter. Faster. 

And less organic. 

He catalogues every microexpression on his predecessor’s face, the flutter of his long, dark lashes, the widening of his pupils, the twitch of his pink lips, parted just so. 

He nudges his foot between Connor’s legs, and Connor gasps, tilting his head back, his sharp chin pointing up, exposing the column of his throat. 

“By God, they made you weak,” 900 says, pressing the sole of his foot against Connor’s erection. “Weak and stupid with lust,” he laughs. “No wonder you’ve become obsolete.”

Connor moans softly, rolling his hips up. 

900 doesn’t know how it came to this. How the struggle to get Connor contained had led to his teeth scraping along Connor’s neck, his thigh between Connor’s legs, Connor rutting against him until he’d shoved him down, Connor’s tied hands pinned under his back. 

“Is this why they like you so much,” he asks, putting more of his weight down, squeezing Connor’s cock between his belly and 900’s foot. “Do you offer yourself to them like this, wanton like a cheap whore?”

Connor only looks at him, eyes half-lidded, the lock of hair mirroring 900’s falling carelessly over his brow. 

“Do they all get to fuck you? Use you? That’s what you were made for, to be used by humans,” he hisses, dragging his foot down, and Connor cries out, hips jerking up. “I suppose that’s all you’re good for, now that they have me,” he smirks. “Nothing but a hole to be filled.”

Connor groans, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

“I expected more from you,” 900 drawls. “More fight. More _dignity_. Certainly not this, acting like a cheap fucktoy for anyone who comes within touching distance.”

“N-not anyone,” Connor manages to stutter, and 900 raises an eyebrow. 

“No? Who then? Does you Lieutenant get to do this?” He asks, the tip of his shoe digging against Connor’s balls. “Does he like to bend you over and use your hole? Are you his private little doll to play with?” 

Connor squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. 

900 knows they’re identical. Aside from their different eyes, Connor’s brown ones making him look doe-eyed like some innocent bait, they are the same. 

And yet 900 knows he’ll never be able to look like that: skin flushed ruddy, eyes hazy with want, lips bitten red. He knows he can never have that look of complete abandon. 

Something ugly rises in him, strange and unfamiliar, crackling in him like a slab of ice squeezed between shores. He leans down, grabbing Connor’s tie and yanking him up by it until their noses brush.

“Get yourself off on me,” he spits, propping his foot over Connor’s cock and letting Connor fall back onto the floor. “Fuck yourself against my shoe, that’s the only part of me you’re worthy of.”

The venom in his tone betrays none of the doubt eating at him. None of the heat building between his thighs.

Connor stares at him, not uttering a word. Then he lets out a low, breathy sound, and without hesitation, begins to buck his hips, writhing and jerking to rub himself off, rutting himself against the sole of 900’s shoe.

There’s no trace of shame. 900 falters. He thought he was in charge. He thought he had an upper hand over Connor. Thought it would be easy to reduce him into something small and pathetic and meaningless. It’s what he is, next to 900.

He watches Connor’s eyes flutter closed, watches him toss his head, mouth parted around a moan. Connor takes, and takes, and takes, and 900 can only stand there and give. 

When Connor comes, his white teeth sink into the red of his bottom lip, a deep whine escaping his throat. 900 watches the way his body quivers, every tendon and synthetic muscle gone tense, before energy seems to flow out of him and he goes limp on the floor. 

A moment passes. 900 can’t look away from the content expression on Connor’s face. His LED turned away, he looks human in a way 900 can only dream of.

Something cracks further in him, bleeding red. 

He doesn’t _want_ to look more human. He doesn’t _want_ to be like Connor. He’s _better_ than Connor. Superior. 

Connor turns his head and opens his eyes, blinking slowly at him. Spit shines on his swollen bottom lip. On his crotch, under 900’s foot, is a spreading damp spot. 

900 feels a sudden, visceral pang of _desire_ , and it slams into a fractured wall hard enough to make him stagger back. 

He wants to keep Connor for himself. Like something shiny a child would obsess over, 900 needs to keep him. So he can touch him and a look at him and not share him with anyone. 

He digs into his pocket and turns his head down to stare at the radio transmitter. His thumb brushes over the switch, before he drops it. 

The receiver shatters easily under his foot, and so does the barrier inside him.

He hears a shuffling sound, and when he looks, Connor is sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

His hands neatly folded in his lap.


End file.
